The Shade of Shadows
by Sunset
Summary: Nick encounters a psychic One shot.


Door chimes sounded as his sister, in front of him, opened the door and stepped though the threshold. It wasn't the normal sound of a small store bell; not the chime that had always reminded him of Tinkerbelle and Peter Pan, this particular door had a muted ding, low in tone, like Tinkerbelle was now in her 40's, living in a run down hotel room, drinking a fifth a day and making a living from blowing the Kebler Elves. A small smile spread across his face, and Nick ducked his head, as much to hide the grin from his sister, as to clear the low hung doorway.

Closing the door behind him, he was amazed at how dark the room became with out the Texas sun streaming in. Lit candles were placed around the room, the small flames dancing on the wicks to the music of the wind from the open door. Incense burned from a hidden corner, sending the smell of smoldering spice into the air. As his eyes adjusted to the sudden near darkness, Nick put his hands on his hips, a defiant stance his sister had long come to recognize as the physical manifestation of his stubbornness.

Older than Nick by only ten months, Kimberly Stokes had spent much of her life feeling like his twin rather than his big sister. Both inherited their mothers' deep brown eyes, and the Stokes family nose, the resemblance was uncanny. A fourth grade riding accident had left Kimberly with two broken legs and a long enough recovery time that she'd had to repeat the grade, entering Nicks class. In high school, most teachers and new friends assumed they were twins, an assumption neither Nick nor Kimberly had ever felt the need to rectify.

It had been her mother on the phone, when it rang in the wee hours of that morning. Kimberly had sat up in bed and was reaching for the phone before she'd fully woken up, a nightmarish dream still playing in her head like an old movie on late night tv. Her heart was beating hard, blood rushing though her ears as she picked up the receiver. Only bad news came at three in the morning.

"Nick's been kidnapped." Her mother's voice, full of counterfeit let's-not-scare-the-children calmness, but the frightened undertones seeped though. Kimberly had a flash in that moment, that moment of stagnant silence as the meaning of her mother's words sunk in, a mental picture of a duck, floating on the water, paddling underneath, that's what her mothers voice was, a duck, composed on top, kicking like hell underneath the surface.

Kimberly had spent the next forty-eight hours huddled with her other brother, the first born, the other Stokes daughters and their husbands at the family ranch, each of them jumping through their skins every time the phone rang. She didn't sleep, even after their dad had called with the news that he'd been found and was on his way to the hospital. Not sleeping, even when Nick's friend Greg called and said the prognosis was good. One by one, her siblings slipped away to their old bedrooms, satisfied with the news being relayed from Nevada, but Kimberly kept vigil, sleeping only after she heard Nick's voice, groggy, medicated and bone weary, but alive.

Now, standing in the middle of that little shop in the heart of Dallas, surrounded by the smell of cinnamon and ginger incense, and the must of the old books that lined the shelves on the walls, bathed in the glow of candlelight, she looked at her brother standing with his hands on his hips, she suddenly felt normal again. His stubbornness to do what she'd brought him here to do was the sign of the old Nick she'd been looking for since he got off the plane with their parents ten days ago.

"Com' on" her voice had a teasing, do-this-for-me quality, a verbal batting of the eyelashes, that she knew he couldn't resist. It was the tone she'd perfected throughout their childhood, the one she used every time they were about to do something that wound up getting them in trouble, the very tone she relied on to get him to open up to her, tell her about the kidnapping, being buried alive.

They'd been sitting in their parent's living room, his third night home, drinking dark red wine, with family portraits and framed snapshots looking down on them from their hanging place on the walls, when he told her. Kimberly didn't know if it was her coaxing or the wine, but he told her. And once he started, he didn't -couldn't- stop. Working backwards in time, reliving his years in Vegas as he narrated them to her. He told her all of it. Every landslide of his life in the past five years, from saying his goodbyes into that tape recorder, engulfed by the earth, to the fact that cows drink water. Every misjudgment; every victory.

All but one. He kept one to himself.

His hands slipped off his hips, and fell to the side, his shoulders relaxing a bit, and she knew he'd given in. She smiled sweetly and tugged at his shirtsleeve, the one he insisted on wearing, even in the heat of the Texas spring, to cover the blisters and bite marks the ants had left behind, she coaxed him further into the shop.

"Hello." A soft voice with a deep country accent came from the back of the store, and Nick looked toward it, peering though the candle lit darkness until she came into view. She wore jeans and a dark pink camisole, her long light brown hair that curled in spirals was pulled back into a loose pony tail, sections of which had come loose, hanging around her face. She brushed a curl back, tucking it behind an ear, the cluster of silver bangle bracelets she wore tinkled dully with the movement, sounding like the door chime and reminding him of Tinkerbelle all over again. He pulled his lips together to hide the grin.

"Hi." Kimberly raised a hand and gave a little wave. "I called this morning about a reading."

The woman stepped out of the shadows and in to a circle of light, her face brightened with recognition. "Of course." She lifted both hands, and looked from Kimberly to Nick then back again. "Both of you?"

"No," Kimberly answered, "just my brother." She turned to Nick; the movement sending out swells of stirred air, making the flames on the candles flickers again. A tilt of her head told Nick he wasn't getting out of this. He didn't know why his sister insisted on doing this, but if it made her feel better, then he'd go though with it. Once again, he put his own feelings aside and did what was asked of him.

"Just me." He spoke for the first time since Kimberly had pulled in to the parking space, and he'd squelched the urge to make a joke.

"Alright then, shall we go in?" She turned, headed to the back of the store, and as he followed her, he watched her disappear though a sheet of strings of beads hanging in a doorway off to the right. He rolled his eyes and wondered if this place would ever see the 21st century.

Parting the beads with a hand, he saw that the woman had settled herself into a chair set up behind an old card table. She gestured to the empty chair across from her and Nick reluctantly entered the rest of the way in to the small room and sat down.

The incense was stronger, but the light was a little better, a large three-wicked candle sat on the card table, near the woman's right arm. Nick made his self as comfortable as he could, and looked at her, noticing in the better light, the splash of freckles on her shoulders, and the intricate beading of the long earrings that dangled from her lobes.

"I'm Zoë." She held out her hand across the table.

"Nick." He took her hand in his, meeting her eyes straight on for the first time, and as he watched, her face changed; her mouth pulling in to a tight grimace, her eyes widened, her gaze becoming a vacant stare that shot right though him as if he wasn't there. He'd seen that expression before; on the live victims, the ones who'd lived though whatever event it was that had brought him to them. He'd even seen it in the mirror. More times than he wanted to think about.

The expression left her face as quickly as it'd come. Her eyes focused back on him, he felt real again. She released his hand, the look in her eyes shifting from anguish into compassion, underlying pain still evident in her gaze. "I'm so sorry" she whispered.

"For what?"

"You're in a great deal of pain. I'm sorry for that."

"What're you talking about? I'm fine." He patted his arms and legs, in an indication of no broken bones.

"No" her voice still a whisper "you're soul." She paused, letting her words sink into him. "You've got a great cavern of pain. So much pain. And not just your own, you carry the pain of others with you." Her eyes opened, and she stared at him for a moment. "You see death every day."

Nick rolled his eyes. _Kimberly_ he thought to himself, _told her on the phone. _If she'd realized it or not, she'd said something to this woman, Kimmy was always going on and on, the kind of woman who'd tell a stranger about her pap smear before she realized it. She _must _have said something…

"Who's Nigel?" Zoë asked, staring just over his right shoulder. The breath of her words brushed the flames of the candle at her elbow, and they ebbed, threatening to extinguish.

His lips moved, the muscles in his throat working, but no sound came. That was the one thing he'd kept to himself; hadn't told Kimberly about. Nigel. Embarrassment kept him from revealing that one to her. Shame at his failed instincts, his training and experience fleeing when he needed them most. He should have known someone was watching, the evidence was all there the whole time.

Zoë closed her eyes; as if they were her own memories she was watching. "So many things… so much..." Her voice trailed off. Nick could only stare mutely. "…darkness, and torturous light." Her fingers played at the base of her neck.

"You've faced your own death… more than once. And very recently." She raised the hand he'd shook, the palm facing him, as if she was trying to fend off the feelings radiating off him. "Very recently."

Nick nodded, his voice coming back "Yes." He didn't believe, _couldn't_ believe; the realm of the mystical was so far away from his world of science and hard facts, verifiable black and white data. This had to be a hoax, and yet…and yet, Nigel was an odd name to pull out of thin air. And why was his heart beating so hard?

Her eyes softened, as if his voice broke the connection. "I wish I could tell you that it's over now, but this is going to stay with you for a long time. You've only just begun to heal." His breath rushed out of him like a popped balloon. "I can tell you that you're very loved. And that I believe the worst is behind you."

Nick blinked and ran the back of his hand across his forehead. After a moment he pushed himself up from the table. "Thanks" he muttered automatically, just before he pushed his way back through the beads.

Kimberly was settled into a worn settee tucked into the corner and had an open book lying across her lap. She looked up at the sound of the rustling beads. "Done already? That was fast."

"Yeah." He answered, distantly, resisting the urge to look behind him. Kimberly closed the book and placed it on the couch before she stood. "Lets go, ok?" There was something in his voice, some pleading pitch that made her react quickly.

She nodded, "Yeah. Ok." They stepped to the doorway, and he reached past her to open it. The muted tinkling brought no smile this time. As the bright Texas sun flooded into the room, he heard the rustle of beads behind him. Despite himself, he turned around and found Zoë staring at him with so much compassion it sent a shiver down his spine.

Kimberly stood next to the hood of her car. "Nicky?"

"Yeah." He forced himself to tear his eyes away and blinked into the brightness bouncing up off the white sidewalk. "Yeah" he repeated "I'm coming." and stepped outside, closing the door, taking the darkness with him.


End file.
